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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720830">Time Enough at Last</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>M/M, dean dies but i didnt wanna tag major character death bc idk if it Counts yknow, just the end, no beta we die like men, sort of a finale rewrite</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 16:40:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>979</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27720830</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>i havent watched spn in years but i needed to get this out of my system so badly, but yknow. short n digestible.<br/>disclaimers: i watched the confession scene and part of the finale and thats it but i tried to keep it pretty accurate from my knowledge ! also yes the title is from the twilight zone no that has no significance</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Time Enough at Last</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He didn’t think it would end like this.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Sure, he knew he wasn’t immortal or anything, but he had </span>
  <em>
    <span>time. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Plenty of it. Time to shoulder everything like he always does, take out the threat of the week, move on. His apple pie life would come soon enough, even if it had to be postponed year after year. Just this last hunt. They need him. Just one more and he can hang up the hat, open some bar or mechanic shop and drink a beer in a rocking chair on the porch. Some happily-enough-ever-after. Time to make amends with those he misses and let go of those he can’t. Time to put himself back together, time to pick Sam up too, all the time in the world to tell Cas just what he really thinks, and besides, what has death ever really mattered beyond a deal or a trip downstairs? Except life doesn’t work that way. Not for him. Not for a Winchester. Not when the stakes keep getting higher but it’s still just routine and everything is blurring together and nothing makes sense and everything hurts, oh god his chest hurts so bad, </span>
  <em>
    <span>please Sammy just tell me it’s okay</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After all this time, he supposes it serves him right to go out like this. One last simple thing. A nail in a white picket fence he never got to build. He knows just where he’s going when this is said and done, and Cas won’t be there to pull him out this time. They were both damned either way, in the end. But it would’ve been nice to have a little time to ignore that. A dog, a brother, a son, a home, a family, a...someone. Whatever Cas is. Could’ve been. Was. So no, he didn’t dare think it would end like this, but deep down he always knew. He feels like a soldier gone off to war, dead in action at the enemy’s hands. Except if the enemies were clowns and their hands were nails. Whatever, he’s not great with metaphors. All he knows is he’s going out slow as molasses and Sam is crying and he’s saying things, probably, he can feel his lips moving, but he doesn’t know what’s coming out. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>At the end of all things, and the beginning of others, Dean Winchester breathes his final breath. It’s really nothing showy. Just shaky and punctured and wet, and he slumps forward and that’s that. He doesn’t feel his soul leave his body, he doesn’t see Sam’s sobbing from above. He just shuts his eyes, and when he opens them again, he’s...somewhere else. He’s still not breathing, but he could if he wanted to, he thinks. He gives it a shot but it feels unnatural now, so he lets his still chest settle. There’s birds chirping. Music, far off somewhere if he listens real close. He’s done, and there’s...peace. It’s new. It’s nice. “Well, at least I made it to heaven.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yup.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dean learns a lot of things in the next two minutes. Too much, probably. If he were alive his heart would be beating on his ribcage like a sledgehammer. But that overwash of peace is alive and well, making his head swim while he sips on the beer Bobby hands him. Tastes like the first drink he shared with his father, just after his first hunt. Tastes like ambrosia. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Your mom and dad, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and that’s a can of worms Dean can’t open at the moment. He’s not sure when he’ll be ready to see them. Maybe never. But he’s got a good long while to figure it out. He was sure that was the stomach punch of the hour, but then Bobby looks at him, raises his eyebrows in a ‘gotcha’ sort of way. “Cas helped.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Everything slows and comes to a full stop. He feels the kickback in his gut. He has time. He has all the time in the world (really now) to make it right. So when Bobby says he can have anything he could ever want, dream, need, he knows exactly what he’s doing. And there Baby is, all but missing her captain at the helm. She purrs to life the moment he shuts the door, better than she has in years. Like brand new. He smiles. That makes two of them. He doesn’t make it far down the dirt road before he hears it, something familiar but nostalgia-logged, sweet, aching, perfect. That lovely swoop of feather, and he doesn’t need to check his mirror to know where it came from. He grins so hard his face hurts.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hello Dean.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He’s already heaven bound, got an angel’s life set up at the roadhouse in his mind. There’s no one to disappoint, no god to send him down but his own kid. And so it’s gruff and whispered when he says it. Like an ancient incantation, like a broken promise, like a well guarded secret, like a brand forever burned into a shoulder, even when it fades. “I love you, Cas.” There’s a few seconds where the only sound is the song still playing from Baby’s stereo. He pats the passenger seat. “Now come up here. We got someone to pick up.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>Another flutter, and he’s right there. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Right there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>beautiful and wonderful and whole. It takes a moment before he’s set again. Morphs himself into the vessel he knows so quick that Dean hardly registers it until his hand is intertwining with Cas’ on the center console. His smile is contagious, especially when it’s lip on lip and Baby just drives herself. It’s not long or heavy or rushed. They’ve got an eternity to memorize the feeling of it. So Castiel is here and he loves him and it’s a big, new world out there. One he deserves. He can stand an ending like that.</span>
</p>
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